Frodo Eats the Ring
by elfchicks
Summary: Frodo and Sam decide upon a different approach to keeping the Ring "secret and safe" on their journey to Mordor. Bad things ensue.


**Frodo Eats the Ring**

_Aranel Carnilino; 2/26/13_

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea, Mr. Frodo."

"Relax, Sam. It's the only way. I'll feel infinitely better about carrying the Ring if there's no chance of anyone else taking it. Or of my even putting it on, for that matter."

Sam paced worriedly. "Alright, Mr. Frodo. But it'll be, well, kind of hard to destroy it at the mountain o' fire if it's in your belly, won't it?"

Frodo paused. He hadn't considered that. The fat one made a good point. But then he remembered the way digestion worked. "Sam, it'll, um, pass through eventually. This is just for the time being. If I have to eat it multiple times to keep it hidden, it will still be worth it."

"Oh." Sam thought a moment. "That makes sense, Mr. Frodo. So how're you going to swallow it? Put it in the Lembas bread or gulp it down with a bit o' water?"

"A bit of both, Sam. Hand me the Lembas. Alright, excellent, it's all nicely nestled in. Now the water." He raised the flask. "Here's to you, my dear Sam."

Sam watched soberly as Frodo stuffed the large piece of elvish bread in his mouth, followed by a long swig of water. The poor gardener clasped his hands, held his breath.

Frodo finally swallowed, and a loud swallow it was. "Did it," he said proudly, wiping his mouth on the edge of his wool cloak.

"How do you feel, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, breathlessly.

Frodo looked at Sam quizzically. "I feel fine. Did you expect me to go invisible or something?"

Sam nodded. "Or something."

"Relax, Sam," Frodo urged again. "Relax. The worst thing that could happen might be a case of indigestion to rival Mount Doom's fury." He chuckled, hoping his blasé manner might set Sam's mind at ease.

Sam nodded, eyes still fixed on Frodo, as if he didn't quite believe whatever ill effects would befall his master had quite caught up with them yet.

Frodo shook his head, sending his dark curls bouncing. "Sam, please stop staring at me like that. You make me feel as though I'll explode."

"Sorry, Mr. Frodo." Sam forced a chuckle, but it made him sound more uneasy.

"You're still staring, Sam." Frodo was beginning to feel a little nervous himself now, for entirely different reasons than Sam.

"Oh." This time Sam managed to pry his eyes from Frodo, deliberately studying a nearby rock. Having noted, after several seconds, that it was grey and shaped like a typical rock, he grew bored with it and began staring at Frodo again.

"Sam," Frodo said, beginning to feel a tightness of frustration in the pit of his stomach. Or was it the Ring poisoning his guts, slowly killing him? He shook the feeling off. Ridiculous. "Sam, please, please stop staring at me. Let's do something else. Say, we still have some daylight left; why don't we go on a while longer? I'd like to be through this rock labyrinth sooner than later."

Frodo stood and lifted his pack. He was tired and sore from the day's long journey, but he'd just as well go on and suffer a bit longer than deal with Sam's paranoia. A jolt of pain flashed through his back as he shouldered the pack, and he let out a soft moan.

Sam shot up at the sound, wringing his hands, rushing for his master. "I knew this was a bad idea! It's already havin' an effect. Quick, give me that pack, Mr. Frodo! Me old gaffer'd know a thing or two to do in a scrape like this. Lemme think, lemme think…"

Frodo wrenched his pack back from Sam, feeling rather inconvenienced. "Sam, I'm _fine_. Please don't be so jumpy. If something goes wrong, you will be the first one I tell, don't worry."

Sam smiled, calmed and flattered by this relatively unimpressive display of confidence. "Alright, Mr. Frodo, alright. I won't worry. I won't. You'll see."

"Good," said Frodo, all but rolling his eyes. "Let's get going."

They plodded on through the twisting valleys of barren, piled rock. The whole place looked like a massive stone cowpie riddled with winding channels. Frodo mentioned in passing that this was due to the particular type of lava involved in its formation, but Sam's mind was not so easily distracted from Frodo's "delicate condition."

Not five minutes had passed before Sam spoke up again. "Feeling alright there, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo halted, looking upward as if in hopes that the Vala might smite him and take him away from this place of pudgy, paranoid sidekicks. "I'm just fine, Sam. Really I am. You don't have to keep asking me; I'll tell you if anything goes wrong. Remember?"

Sam sidled up to Frodo, the corner of his eye uncomfortably fixed on the other hobbit's stomach. He was trying to look unconcerned and aloof, but he was a terrible actor. Frodo sighed, gritted his teeth, then relaxed. "Sam," he said slowly. "If it bothers you so much, when the Ring passes through, you can eat it next. Sound fair?"

Sam's expression altered slightly, somewhere between appeasement and absolute terror. "Uh… yes, yes, of course, Mr. Frodo. I'll for sure be the one to have it next."

"Good." Frodo thought, perhaps, that this might shut Sam up for awhile.

As they continued along, the sick feeling in the pit of Frodo's stomach worsened. Another strange sensation joined the first, a straining sort of sensation, like something hadn't settled well and needed to come up. Frodo began to turn a bit greenish in the face; he hoped Sam hadn't noticed. _No, no_, he pleaded with himself. _I am NOT going to throw up, I will NOT throw up. _Well, fortunately, he didn't throw up. He did, however, release a mighty belch that echoed loudly off the stony walls of Emyn Muil.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried in a high-pitched voice, eyes big as doughnuts. He grabbed at Frodo's jacket, unsure of how to help, but panicking like a drowning man dragging under another drowning man.

They both looked up to see the most astonishing thing. Frodo had belched up a rather large, glistening bubble, and inside the bubble was the One Ring. And it was floating away.

"Yahhh! Catch it, Sam, catch it!" Frodo shrilled, failing his arms for no apparent reason.

The bubble, caught by a convenient breeze, floated quickly on and on before the horrified hobbits, bobbing up and down, just out of their reach.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo!" Sam wailed. "I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it!"

"Shut up, Sam, and help me get it!" The bubble floated up the side of a low cliff and Frodo and Sam scrambled, crab-like, up after it.

"I think it's doing this on purpose, Sam," Frodo moaned.

"We'll get it, Mr. Frodo," Sam encouraged. "We'll get it."

He jumped up on a rock, leaned forward, and flung himself with all his might at the mischievous bubble. If this had been in a movie, it would have been played in slow motion, and it would be funny, because watching fat people fall is inherently amusing. As it was, it was not. It was very serious. Sam hit the ground with a splat, and the wind was knocked out of him, and he had nothing to show for it but a bruised spleen.

"Oh, Sam," said Frodo, feeling a small twinge of pity. "Dear Sam. Let me help you up."

He helped Sam up. Then he spotted the bubble floating by again. "After that bubble!" They chased the Ring and its magical, unpoppable bubble for at least another hour, to no avail. Just when they thought they had it, it would whoosh out of their grasps and bounce away on the breeze. It was very spiteful, this bubble.

"It's taunting me, Sam," said Frodo, doubled over, gasping for breath. His small silhouette was now framed in shades of grey in the half-light of dusk. The dastardly bubble bobbed up and down, seeming to laugh in the last gleam of light shining against its glossy side.

"It's hopeless, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, panting like a worn out dog. "We'll never get it; it's too quick."

"But we MUST get it, Sam," wheezed Frodo. "Don't you see? We MUST. The fate of Middle-earth is at stake."

"Oh," said Sam, who was not all that good at remembering important things, like the fate of entire worlds resting in his stumpy hands.

Just then, a dark, gaunt figure leapt over the nearby ledge, diving for the bubble. The two hobbits realized at once what was happening.

"Saaaaaaaaam!" said Frodo, catapulting with every last ounce of strength toward the hovering bubble.

"Mr. Frodoooooooo!" said Sam, also hurtling his massive bulk toward the bubble.

* * *

Far away on the plains of Rohan, Legolas, who was on night watch, looked up to see an explosive flash of light, off a great distance to the East. "Uh… Aragorn?" He nudged the form of the sleeping ranger with his boot. "Aragorn?"

"What?" said a groggy voice in answer.

"Lightning or something, in Emyn Muil, if I don't miss my guess."

"Why would you disturb me for that? Wake me up if something _important _happens."

"Fine," said Legolas, looking disdainfully down at the ranger. "Fine, Mr. 'Wake me up if something important happens,' " he mimicked in a nasally voice, turning away. "Sure I'll wake you up if something important happens. Like slightly _after_ you've been skewered by an orc."

* * *

When the dust settled in Emyn Muil, Frodo became aware of three things. First, that he, Sam, and the other creature were tangled in a pile on the ground. Secondly, that Sam was crying softly. Thirdly, that the creature was hissing and making coughing noises from the bottom of the pile.

"Well, creature, what have you to say for yourself?" Frodo demanded, harshly.

"Ahhh!" the creature wailed. "We eats it! We eats the Precious! Gollum! Gollum!"

"Oh, confound it all," said Frodo, rolling his eyes. "Here we go again."

THE END


End file.
